


After

by a-spaghettiday (cuemusic)



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Coital, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 12:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12794571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuemusic/pseuds/a-spaghettiday
Summary: An exploration of the immediate moments after Charlie and Dee's rendezvous in "Missed the Boat." From Dee and Charlie's perspective.





	After

_Shit._ Dee’s joints creaked as she attempted to unfold herself from the love seat cushions. 

Draped at the knee over the couch’s back, Dee’s right leg was free-est. She winced as she straightened it – her foot and ankle cracking much louder than expected. _You should do yoga_. In an instant, she saw a grid of faceless ultra-fit housewives…moving “as one” into poses named after insects – while some bullshit off-brand Enya song played in the background. Dee grimaced. _Well, you should at least get some yoga pants._ That was half the job. _More than half, really._

Her left leg proved she could do yoga _fine_ without Enya...bent up underneath her, it had been cut off circulation for a _while_. She was _pretty sure_ lack of circulation was a gauge of successful flexibility. Dee released a whinny at the spiky warmth which flooded forward as she maneuvered the leg over the closest couch arm.

She then turned her attention to her own arms. Her right arm was comfortable enough – bent upward and behind her head, like she’d passed out mid-yawn.

 _Hah…“passed out” – You_ wish _Sweet Dee._ She groaned deep in her throat – because, _shit_ that’s right – she’d been sober last night. They both had.

Which brought Dee’s thoughts to her left arm… an arm which, at the moment, was the most complicated of her endless limbs.

She remembered threading her arm through Charlie’s, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember why. No one had been threatening to do something stupid – she didn’t have to restrain him, he wasn’t trying to restrain her. The gang had…as of a couple days ago… _disbanded_ – so no scheme had forced them into extreme duress. And they were _definitely_ in Dee’s apartment, alone. Meaning they hadn’t been hiding, or doing a bit for the benefit of unaware onlookers.

So how _the hell_ did her elbow become locked with his? And _why_ was she thinking about how his _well_ -muscled arm’s freckle-tan looked against her freckle-less arm – despite not yet having opened her eyes?

 _Goddammit Dee…_ well-muscled? Really? _Shit._

There was of course the simple explanation – that it was just what a person did, a normal way to reciprocate affection. But if there was anything Dee knew about herself – it was that she wasn’t normal, and she wasn’t simple.

\--

The weird dolly couch was _way_ too small – even after he’d kicked off the spare pillows. _Damn that’s right – you and Frank have got to remember to stock-up on spare pillows._ Ever since harvesting the cotton from their last ones, the two of them had been playing fast and loose with their pillow situation – if someone were to sabotage their futon one night, they’d be screwed.

There was something soft between his face and the dolly couch arm – partially opening his eyes, he surveyed a cloud of blonde obscuring his immediate vision. _Oh shit…so that happened._ It smelled like blossoms. Dee’s hair always smelled like blossoms. 

 _Deeeeee_ – right now, she was a plain ol’ regular D, plucked on a harpsichord. A sleepy Dee. _Deeee._

Charlie stifled a yawn.

If he thought about it, dolly couches were really the opposite of futons. _With a futon – you’ve got a pretty sweet couch to begin with, and then if you and your pals need to do some collaborative sleeping – you’ve got a fold-out bed that’s twice as big._

Charlie lifted his head a bit to let some of Dee’s hair fall loose – so she wouldn’t pull it if she needed to move.

 _Meanwhile toy couches were crappy couches to begin with – crappy couches which became even crappier when used as a bed._ Not ideal for collaborative sleeping _at all._

This brought Charlie a peculiar pulse of pride. _Because you know what – we made it work._ Him and _Sweet_ Dee, that is. _Deeeeeee._

Sometimes, Dee was D sharp, sometimes she was D flat – sometimes he heard her played on a saxophone, other times a harmonica. It had been like this for a while – so far as Charlie could tell, it was all about how Dee seemed at the moment. Depending on _that_ , he would imagine her note.

 _Deee_. Last night, Dee was D…sharp. A mid D Sharp played on a keyboard. _Deeeeeeeee_ …A smiley note – but the kind that was smiley without being stupid.

 _All bright and yellow._ Like her hair. _Twirly_ _and layered_ _like Europe noodles._ He reclosed his eyes. _Ohhh look everyone – here comes_ Queen _Dee…all hail her fancy pasta hair._ He smirked. 

Next to him, he felt Dee struggle to extract her leg out from beneath the couch throw. She did this in fractional movements – not wanting to wake him. That’s what Charlie assumed at least. _Hah, well, too late for that…_ he’d woken up two minutes ago when Dee cracked like a dozen joints in two seconds.

Still, he appreciated the gesture…he didn’t want them to officially wake up either.

Under the guise of unintentional sleep movement, he decided to test the waters – undoing their interlocked elbows, Charlie stretched his arm outward – nudging the side of Dee’s ribs. Her breathing paused for a half second – before Dee used her legs to lift her frame, allowing Charlie’s arm to continue beneath her.

Charlie was holding his breath now – Dee _could_ flip over the couch and head for her own bed…leaving Charlie in a position to get his shoes on, steal some apples and dish soap – and then sneak home. _Or…_

Gently, Dee began to replace her frame’s weight onto Charlie’s outstretched arm – rearranging herself so as to face him. Charlie felt a waitress-y flutter – and without premeditation, cupped Dee’s back. She stopped breathing for a moment again.

In the same falsely sleepy movements Charlie had just employed – Dee folded inward – flopping one arm onto his chest, and resting her head on his shoulder. Charlie used a fake yawn as an excuse to squeeze her closer, and move both of them further into the couch.

Dee letting him do this provoked a flutter that was even stronger – and which somehow managed to sustain itself. It was _acutely_ waitress-y. Charlie couldn’t speak if he wanted to.

 _Ohhh shit. This is going you bite you guys in the ass_ so _bad…_ He shook it off – there’d be plenty of time to deal with that later.

Instead, Charlie let himself nod off again.

He supposed the dolly couch wasn’t _so_ bad. _Sure,_ it was no futon…but he had enough space, didn’t he? And Dee… _Deeeeeee_ …well, she was no pair of long underwear.

 _Still_ …he was definitely warm enough, right?

\--

Dee peered sideways at the smirk hiding under Charlie’s “asleep” face.   

_Hah. You aren’t fooling anyone – Charlie._

Not that she could talk. Although she _knew_ Charlie was pretending to sleep, she also knew that _he_ knew _she_ was pretending to sleep.

 _Whatever.._. _Sleeping, not sleeping – same difference._

Unconsciously, Dee settled her face into Charlie’s shoulder – and as he gripped her, she felt the same buzz which had lit her up last night.

 _Let’s not think about it._ Instead, she focused on the moment... _the warmth, her stupidly confident sense of safety – the sound of their breathing, the smell of their…_

Dee crinkled her nose.

 _Charlie’s hair…smells like dish soap._ Her dish soap. _Has he…?_ Dee didn’t have to finish asking herself the question. _Of course he has_.

_Suppose it’s better than nothing._

Dee sighed, deciding to follow Charlie’s cue – and actually fall asleep again.  

 _He’s stronger than you expected…_ seemed all that rat bashing, sewer traversing, and under-the-bridge pillaging yielded more than blood, rings, coins, and denim. _Charlie Kelly…a product of the modern rat-apologist’s gym._

Well, whatever he was doing…it’s effective.

God _dammit_ Charlie.

\--

 _When did looking like a bird become a bad thing anyway?_ Charlie watched his sneakers kick gravel as he took the long way home. It was dangerous to lack peripheral vision this early in the morning, but Charlie only had himself to lose.

 _In other words – you ain’t got nuttin, partna._ Unperturbed _,_ Charlie shook away the beratement voiced (for some reason) by his inner Oil Tycoon. _Didn’t matter._ He’d be able to huff his head quiet soon enough. Somewhere, a Carolina chickadee was chick-a-dee-dee-deeing. Charlie harmonized with its last note, releasing a high _Deeeee_ in a low voice. It was a nice sound.

He shook his head again, this time in incredulity. _Seriously man – what was wrong with_ _birds?_

Birds could do _all kinds_ of impressive shit. _Like fucking fly, for one._

Charlie kicked a rock into a passing sewer grate. It was a cool shape, but he didn’t want to bring it home without discussing it with Frank first. This way he’d know where to find it.

 _And even when birds couldn’t fly, they_ always _had wings_ – which basically was them telling the world _“Yeah…my ancestors could totally fly and shit…it was sweet, but eventually they like transcended the whole ‘migration’ scene and decided to settle down.”_

Charlie reached into his pocket and pulled out an apple he’d lifted from the shimmery bowl on Dee’s kitchen table. _Deeee._ Pausing to examine its color in the early daybreak, Charlie smiled at how the apple gleamed purple – a product of the blue dish soap covering the apple’s red. It was a nice color. Sure, maybe he _should_ have squirted the soap in a different pocket than the one he was using to hold apples – _but hey, if you had done_ that _, you might never have made accidental-pocket-purple_.

Not wanting to waste the soap, Charlie rubbed the apple in his hair. If he was lucky, he’d get splashed by a passing truck, and his hair would be washed before he got home. He started to eat the apple, residual soap and all. _Mac would be freaking out…but maybe the soap counteracts the apple-skin’s toxins?_ Whatever. Charlie did poison all the time. _Ate it…drank it…huffed it…_ pretty much every day.

 _Not last night though..._ not before he and Dee had –

 _Deee._ When he’d left her sleeping, she was a high D flat plucked on a harp – chipper, but bittersweet. That _sad_ kind of happy…that was Dee this morning – all bendy and long and asleep on her tiny couch.

Charlie felt a flush of heat through his system as he recalled just _how_ bendy her arms and legs proved to be. _Like one of those Jacob’s ladders things_ …they just kept folding and folding and folding and _folding_ …all around _him_. Clinging and bending…to – toward – _him_.

He’d looked at her a long while after filling up his pockets with apples and soap. She hadn’t woken, and to Charlie, her sleeping form seemed the _tiniest_ bit hopeful. Because at _that_ point, Dee didn’t 100% know yet that she’d be waking up alone… _maybe she 98% knew, maybe even 99% –_ but until she woke up, she couldn’t know for sure.

Looking at her then, Charlie hadn’t known for sure either.

 _You could just get back in the couch._ Or he could make breakfast – turn on some music, and greet Dee with a sweet def rhyme whenever she finally awoke…

                                       It’s day _break_ – so we break _fast_ – burning _bread_ on a _grill_ – for a taste that’ll _last_ –

 _And then she could keep it going – and drop a sweet line of her own._ It could happen. If he just stayed, if she just let him. He _knew_ it was possible…so why did it seem so pointless?

Instead – for reasons he looked forward to never understanding – Charlie had shoved a couple pieces of bread into Dee’s toaster, set out two plates and glasses, and left. 

_Shit._

At this point, Charlie was rounding the alley corner near his building. Swallowing the last of the apple core, he chewed on the stem for a little while – checking for tastes he knew he wouldn’t find – before spitting it onto the sidewalk. A pigeon waddling nearby gave the stem a couple experimental pecks, likely discovering the non-taste with which Charlie was already well-acquainted. _No shame in trying, buddy…_

Charlie started up his building’s stoop. _Birds were birds._ Some were scrappy survivors, others ass kicking patriots – some were simple and pretty, others complicated and weird.

 _And_ some _were all of the above…_

He was in his room now. Without a thought, Charlie grabbed his glue and took a deep breath inwards.

It was like inhaling the light that came to your eyes and head when you stood up too fast – except it lasted longer, and tinted everything with cheap euphoria. Charlie laid down.

The window’s brightness spilled outside across his vision, now unconfined by its parameters. Soon the rest of the room’s colors followed suit…abandoning their objects – merging into and out-of one another with increasing frequency. In the swirling, Charlie saw all sorts of wings – a flock tessellated overhead. Flapping and flapping and flapping…

_Nah…there…there was nothing wrong with birds._

He passed out wondering about the marketability of dish soap covered fruit, assuming the soap made the fruit an awesome color.

\--

Somewhere not too far away, Dee woke up to the smell of burnt toast.

_Huh._

She ate it.


End file.
